


My Life, My Love

by spikesgirl58



Series: ABBA/Foothills [10]
Category: Man from Uncle - Fandom
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-07
Updated: 2012-07-07
Packaged: 2017-11-09 08:56:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,899
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/453682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spikesgirl58/pseuds/spikesgirl58
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Granting Napoleon's request, Illya becomes a US citizen.  Things never quite go as they are planned, though.</p>
            </blockquote>





	My Life, My Love

Illya Kuryakin leaned back in the bathtub, content for the moment to relax in his lover’s arms.  He closed his eyes in pleasure as Napoleon trickled water down his chest.  Outside it was hot and bone dry in spite of it being early morning, but in here, the water was cool.  Birds were carrying on a lively conversation outside; two jays were squawking over something and a robin was having a dispute with another bird.  With the exception of the breeze occasionally rattling the leave of a tree, the morning was still waking up.

Inside, the two men had been awake for quite some time.  They’d already made love once this morning, but Illya could feel Napoleon stirring against him even as the water lapped at him.

Napoleon set the washcloth aside and began to trace random patterns on Illya’s chest, brushing the collected water free from the darker blond chest hair.  He ran his cheek against Illya’s head, pausing now and again to plant a kiss on it.

“Happy?” he whispered, nuzzling an ear, and Illya smiled.

“Mmm.”  He didn’t open his eyes, but rather arched his neck back, an open invitation.  “But I could be happier.”

“Ready to be taken?” 

Illya answered this with a contented sigh and took one of Napoleon’s hands, guiding it to his groin and his erection.

Napoleon chuckled, deep and rich. “I’d say that’s a yes.”

“I’m just amazed that you’d even have to ask.  When have I ever turned down the opportunity for sex with you?”

“I can think of a few times…”  Napoleon kept his movements slow and languid, obviously content to tease a bit longer.

“Name one.”  Illya stroked one of the thighs that straddled him.  “When I wasn’t unconscious, injured, or seriously preoccupied…”

“Well, if you’re going to put that fine a point on it…”  Napoleon licked a trickle of water from Illya’s neck up to his ear.  “I love that you haven’t shaved yet.”

“When did you give me a chance this morning?”

“And as I recall, you were the one who came knocking.”  Napoleon wrapped a gentle hand around Illya’s dick and squeezed.  “With a delightful knocker, I might add.”

“I’ve heard it called many things, my friend, but never that.”  Illya rocked his hips up into that wonderful pressure.  “Harder please.”

“Not quite yet.  I want to ask you something.  Would you do me a favor?”

“You have my dick in your hand; I’m not exactly in a position to deny you.”  Yet Illya detected a slight change in his partner’s mood.  “What is it?”

“Have you ever thought about becoming a citizen?”

Illya sat up and glanced behind him.  “Why would I do that?  I’m here legally.”

“I know, but haven’t you ever just wanted to…?”

“What?  Swear my loyalty to the U.S. Constitution?”

“Among other things.”

“Haven’t really thought about it.”  Illya relaxed again.  “What brought this up?”

“You got hugs and kisses from the government yesterday to renew your green card.”

“Hmmm, already?  That was a fast ten years…”

“If you were a citizen, you wouldn’t have to worry about it.”

“I don’t worry about it now.”  Illya dropped his hand to Napoleon’s and encouraged it to move.

“Sorry, asleep at the wheel.”  Napoleon chuckled and resumed pumping Illya’s penis, long, slow strokes.  “Haven’t you ever wanted to be part of something...?”  He squeezed gently.  “…bigger?”

“I am, Napoleon; the USSR is twice the size of the US.”

“I’m being serious.”  His hand stopped again.

“I can see that.  Why is this important to you?”  He felt rather than saw the shrug.

“I worry about losing you.  If war broke out, you could be deported.  Being a US citizen would keep you safe.”

“Like it did the Japanese-Americans your government put into concentration camps during World War II?  I’m sure they felt very safe when their houses and businesses were taken away from them.”

“I didn’t say we were perfect and I wouldn’t go throwing stones if I were you.”  Napoleon moved to cup Illya’s balls, keeping his touch gentle, but firm.  "The USSR is hardly lily white with virtue.”

“Never would I claim that, but I do not wish to talk politics or doctrines right now, Napoleon.  I have something much more carnal, and still illegal in some states, in mind.  I think for the sake of the floor and our respective spines, we should continue this in bed.”

“Just tell me you’ll think about it.”

“I will give it all the attention it is due.”  Illya pushed himself up and out of the tub, stepping carefully onto the rug, grabbing a towel and holding it out to his lover.  “I recommend you do the same.”

                                                                                *****

Napoleon turned the letter over in his hand again and again, desperate to open it, but never knowingly crossing that line.  It was addressed to his partner.  It had arrived by special delivery and now he sat on their couch, a forgotten glass of wine beside him and the cursed letter in his hands.  ‘Personal and confidential’ the envelope proclaimed in large red letters, but Napoleon already knew what it held by the Dept. of Naturalization stamp on it.  Illya’s green card, legally here for another ten years.  For awhile, Napoleon had hoped… played with the thought, dared to dream Illya really would become a citizen.  It worried him so much that something would happen and Illya would be lost to him.  He knew it was silly, but paranoia makes men do silly things at times.  It was worse now, after Velon and Illya’s subsequent injury.  Napoleon had seen just how vulnerable they both were to outside forces and that scared him.

He turned the envelope over in his hands one last time and set it aside with other pieces of correspondence that had arrived that day for his partner.  He flicked a glance over at the mantle clock and then to the door as it opened.

“Are you still up?”  Illya came through the front door, immediately stepping over and around the two cats who mysteriously appeared from the floorboards.  “I know Napoleon fed you.”  He bent to scratch first one, then the other head, ruffling the fur.  “So, none of your tales, my friends, about being hungry.”

Illya shook his hand to encourage the fur to drift free and moved to Napoleon, settling beside him to gather a kiss.  It was a long drink of water for a thirsty man.  Not necessarily as much passionate as it was calming, a renewal and revitalization of soul and body. 

“That just about makes the day worth living through,” Illya murmured when he finally pulled away. He toed out of his shoes and wiggled his feet happily, propping them up on the coffee table.

“Busy night?”

“All three seatings were full.  It’s good to be out of the Recession finally.”  Illya reached for Napoleon’s glass and drank from it.  “That’s a little oaky.”

“It’s young; it’ll mature nicely, I think.”  Napoleon waited for Illya to settle against him, content with the familiarity of the action.  “You smell like honey… and what?”

“Chorizo probably.  There was a run on the special tonight.”

“It was good.”  Napoleon gestured to his discarded plate.

“No one picked that up?”  Illya frowned.  “That was sloppy.”

“I didn’t call for dessert as I was instructed to.  Had I, it would have been taken away.”  Napoleon began to play with Illya’s hair, one of his favorite pastime.  “Don’t blame your staff.”  One handed, he poured more wine.  “You got your green card today.”

“About time, I sent the app in months ago.  It’s paradoxical how you have to be right on time with your obligations, yet they can take as long as they wish.”

“True, you should try missing a tax filing.”

“No, thank you all the same.  Are you ready to head up?”

Napoleon waited for a second to see if Illya was going to add anything else, but it became apparent he wasn’t.  “I think you have to move first.”

“Always waiting for me to make the first move,” Illya grumbled with a smile.

“It’s easier that way.  Did you eat tonight?”

There was a sly lazy grin.  “I intend to…”

“I meant real food, Illya, not….”

“Yes, I ate with the staff around seven and again around ten… and just finished off half a quart of mango ice cream.”

“That’s why you smell like honey.”

“And now I need something to work it off…”  He stood and held out a hand to Napoleon who took it and rose, sneaking one last glance at the envelope.

                                                                                ******

It seemed odd to be alone in the house, Illya thought as he tossed his keys into a small tray by the front door.  Napoleon was on a buying spree over in Napa and would be gone for the next couple of days.  Illya dropped the book he’d been studying onto the table as well and stretched.  It was actually going to be nice to not have to hide it, if only for a couple of nights.

He grabbed a bottle of seltzer water and a box of Apple Jacks, reclaimed the book and headed upstairs. Both cats looked over at him from their sprawl on the bed and Bette Noir rolled over, exposing her stomach to him.

“A little presumptuous, aren’t you?” he asked the cat, but he sat to rub the fur, smiling at the responding purr that vibrated his hand.  He petted her for a moment longer, then hurriedly stripped and stretched out on the bed, sighing in the pleasure that just lying down provided.  It had been an intense night of wrong orders, mis-prepared entrees and lingering diners.  Matt’s head was elsewhere these days and Illya was secretly delighted when the younger man asked him to take over.  It was hard to let someone else be in charge of the kitchen, especially after he’d come so close to losing it last year.

With that thought, he looked down at his right palm.  Days actually went by now that he forgot about the accident that had left the scars behind.  It still fascinated him that he had no fingerprints on that hand anymore.  Worse than the pain had been the loss of his freedom, his kitchen, and his sense of control.  It had been a long road back, one that wouldn’t have been possible without Napoleon’s help.

With that thought in mind, it took him a moment longer to get settled between the cats, book, cereal, and water, but he finally had each where he wanted it.  He put on his glasses, opened the pages to where he’d left off and began to read.

The Articles of Confederation and Perpetual Union, customarily referred to as the Articles of Confederation, was the first [constitution](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Constitution) of the [United States of America](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/United_States) and legally established the union of the states. The [Second Continental Congress](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Second_Continental_Congress) appointed a committee to draft the Articles in June 1776 and sent the draft to the states for ratification in November 1777. The ratification process was completed in March 1781, legally federating the sovereign and independent states, already cooperating through the Continental Congress, into a new [confederation](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Confederation) styled the "The United States of America". Under the Articles the states retained sovereignty over all governmental functions not specifically relinquished to the central government….

He groaned and dropped a handful of cereal into his mouth.  “Napoleon, the things I do for love.”

                                                                                ****

 

Napoleon drifted out of sleep slowly, not even sure what woke him.  He hazarded a glance at the clock and it read barely five, far too early to be awake on their day off.  He could feel Illya resting against him and Napoleon said a little prayer that the heat of the summer had finally given way to the cooler temperatures of the fall.  The days were still warm, but the nights were dipping into the forties, cool enough to encourage touching at night.  While Napoleon would cuddle in the middle of a heat wave, Illya wouldn’t.   It was only as the dead of winter approached that Illya would even consider using a blanket, while Napoleon was bundled up shivering.

That brought a smile to his lips.  The more things in common he tried to come up with, the shorter the list got.  With the exception of UNCLE, they couldn’t have been more different and yet here they were, together thirty years later.  Waverly couldn’t have guessed at the success of the partnership he put together that one fateful day.

He felt the bed shift and then calloused fingers were softly brushing against the sensitive skin of his lower back, Illya’s wordless request.  His response, a low rumble in his throat and a sigh, and Illya’s mouth followed that path of his fingers, licking and sucking.

It went on for forever and for just seconds; Napoleon closed his eyes, surrendering complete control to his lover’s whims, letting the hands, the lips, instruct him.  Then he felt his ass cheeks being spread and he sighed long and happily, eagerly positioning himself up onto his knees and pressing back the instant he sensed Illya’s lube-slicked penis there.

The blast of searing pain gave way to a sense of well being, of his whole world suddenly being perfect and in balance.  He hadn’t thought he’d ever be able to enjoy anal sex after Velon, but he should have known better.  Illya was gentle and patient, prepared to wait as long as it took, never saying a thing to make Napoleon feel guilty or anxious, never issuing an ultimatum or threat. 

Napoleon purposefully put the thought out of his mind and merely reacted to Illya’s touch, the feeling of Illya’s breath tickling the hair around his ear, of Illya moving in and out of him in steady even thrusts.  Napoleon wanted it to go on forever, but he knew he couldn’t.  He never lasted long under Illya’s skillful techniques and suddenly Napoleon felt his climax rocketing through him, ripping a groan from him and forcing him up and back, wanting more, demanding it as his semen flooded Illya’s fist. 

Illya was literally right behind him, two sharp pumps and there was a half strangled sob and Illya’s fingers dug into the muscles of Napoleon thighs, begging him to hold still.  Napoleon could feel Illya throbbing just as he was.  He stayed on his knees until Illya slipped free from his body, slack and exhausted.  Until Illya gave Napoleon’s rapidly deflating penis one last squeeze and pulled his sticky hand away.

Napoleon went down to the mattress, feeling his semen cool on the sheet beneath him, feeling something warm trickling down his leg.  Some mornings, he’d be out of bed, going for a washcloth, but this morning, he welcomed the sensation as a reaffirmation of what they meant to each other, of what they shared.

He smiled, sighing again as Illya’s arm draped over his waist. 

“Thank you.”

“Mmm, I think the pleasure was all mine, _amante._ ”   Napoleon settled an arm over Illya’s and pulled it closer.  “I never get tired of feeling you in me, but I’m not entirely sure I know what I did to deserve that.”

“You wouldn’t.”  Illya’s lips ticked his ear.  “I wanted your day to start off right - happy birthday.”

Napoleon blinked suddenly.  It **was** his birthday.  He’d completely forgotten about it.  He chuckled and pressed back, wanting to feel Illya’s skin against his.

“You know, you’re not supposed to the one who forgets about such things… I thought that was my job.”  Illya’s voice was going soft around the edge and Napoleon knew the blond would be asleep in a matter of moments, as would he.

“Next year, for sure…”

 

                                                                                                *****

 

 _“Tanti auguri a te, cara,”_ Matt said, giving Napoleon a kiss and pressing a small box into his hands.  “Hope you like.”

Napoleon didn’t enjoy getting older anymore than he used to, but he agreed to dinner with Illya and their two closest friends.  It had been a perfect evening.  Matt and Illya had outdone themselves with the meal.  It had started with roast artichokes with mushroom caviar, followed by turkey broth with pumpkin gnocchi, pasta with vodka, then scallops with tomatoes and saffron as the entrée, orange zucchini and a rice pilaf.  Both chefs had relented enough to let Napoleon pick the wines and he was fairly certain that the ice wine he’d picked for dessert would go with the oranges with white chocolate and mint, just as everything else had been a good match so far.

Napoleon undid the ribbon and opened the jewelry box, grinning at the tiny corkscrew tie tack.  “I love it Matt, thank you.  It matches Rocky’s gift perfectly.”  He held the tack up beside the cufflinks. 

Rocky grinned.  “Who do you think picked them out, Mr. S?  I wouldn’t trust a sensitive matter to this heathen.  He’d have gotten you a pet rock and a Cabbage Patch doll.”

“So what did Illya give you?”  Matt reached for his glass of champagne and lifted it in a toast to him. 

Napoleon let his lip curl as he thought of their early morning exploits and Matt chuckled.

“Ah, that good, was it? _Favoloso ,ma molto a buon mercato.”_

“I am not cheap,” Illya protested, pouring himself more wine.  “I just haven’t gotten around to giving him his proper gift yet.”

“No time like the present, _cara_.”   Illya nodded and excused himself, folding his napkin neatly as he stood.  He returned a moment later with a small flat box and handed it to Napoleon.

Napoleon gave it a shake, listening to the uninspired shuffle from within.  He undid the ribbon and opened the top.  Then he frowned.  “A passport?  It’s a U.S. passport.”

“That’s right.”

“I’m going on a trip?”

“Not exactly.  Open it.”  Illya smiled slightly.

Napoleon made a face and opened the cover, then stared at Illya’s photo.  He closed it and opened it again.  “This is a US passport, Illya,” he repeated.

“Very good, Napoleon.”

Napoleon reopened it, looked at the page again, and then his mouth gaped.  “Under nationality it says U.S. Citizen.”

“Nothing gets past you, Mr. S.”  Rocky said, chuckling.  “And I for one am glad it’s over.  If I had to ask one more question about the amendments, I was going to scream.”

“You… did this for me?”

“I certainly didn’t do it for me,” Illya said, sipping his wine.  “I now know more about American government than I ever wanted to…” He was interrupted by Napoleon’s kiss and hug.

“I think he likes it,” Rocky ventured.

“At least he didn’t ask for the receipt.  It’ll come in handy too,” Matt said, standing.

“Why’s that?”  Illya asked, still content to stand quietly in Napoleon’s embrace.

“You can vote now.”  Rocky also stood.  “That should be quite the eye opener.  I remember the first time I did.  It took me forty minutes to get up the nerve to mark the ballot and then I made a mistake.”  He laughed.  “It was a crazy moment.”

 

                                                                                ******

 

Illya stared up at the ceiling of the spare bedroom and tried to breathe as shallowly as possible.  One minute he’d been fine, working in Taste’s kitchen, sautéing up a duck breast when he dropped the hand towel he was using.  His right hand was still sensitive to heat, so he used a towel as a potholder now.  He bent over to pick it up and the next thing he knew he was flat on his back, writhing in agony.

Through sheer will and a desire to not have an ambulance parked in front of his restaurant - that’s never good for business, he somehow got to his feet and to the emergency clinic.  The diagnosis?  A wrenched back.  Illya couldn’t believe it.   He’d been tossed from moving vehicles, hung upside down, from his wrists, manacled, chained and nothing.  He picked up a towel wrong and it was complete bed rest for a week and then they’d see.

He’d sigh, but that hurt too much.  If he took the pain meds, they made him groggy and slightly loopy, not a winning combination when Napoleon had his game on.  Instead, he concentrated on the patterns that the leaves made as they danced upon the ceiling tiles and listened to the minutes tick by.

More than being in pain, he was incredibly bored.  He couldn’t get comfortable to read for any length of time and there was no TV reception in here.  The musical selection on the radio annoyed him and he craved contact with the outside world instead of watching it from the window.  He could see the parking lot, occasionally catch someone coming or going to Vinea or Taste – too busy to check in on him.  Napoleon had a business to run.  Matt and Winston were busy, as was the rest of the staff, with no time for him. 

 Illya smiled; he was getting a full blown case of self pity going.  He was so used to being a focus of attention that it hurt to think the world could quite happily churn on without him.  The door opened and he slowly moved his head in that direction.  He’d learned quickly not to move any part of his body too rapidly.  Napoleon entered, carrying a tray.

“How are you feeling?”

“Sore, bored, angry, not necessarily in that order.”

“First, you do have pain medication.”

“And have you get me to agree to something outrageous?  No, thank you.  I’m still living down the stories about my hospital recovery.  A man should not be made accountable for anything he says coming out of anesthesia.” 

Napoleon chuckled and set the tray down.  “You were in rare form the first couple of days.  Do you want some help sitting up?”

“I can do it myself.”

“I know you can do it yourself, that’s not what I asked.”  He slid his hands under Illya’s armpits and lifted slowly, at the Russian’s pace, until he was propped up against the pillows.

“Second, I don’t know what you are angry about.”

“I wrenched my back picking up a towel, Napoleon.  Do you know how stupid I feel?”

“Why stupid?”

“How many times did I carry you, or get thrown over a cliff, or a host of other things and never had a problem?”

“All of which probably contributed to this.  How often does your back hurt now after a long night in the kitchen or after we’ve been at it for awhile?  We‘re getting older, my friend, and there’s nothing either of us can do about it, except do it together.”  Napoleon handed him a glass of water, a small yellow pill, a large pink one and the dreaded white one.  “Now take your medication like a good boy and don’t make me bounce up and down on the mattress.”

“You wouldn’t…”

“Oh, ye of little faith…” 

Illya took the pills and put them in his mouth.  At least he’d sleep away the rest of the day, so much for the boredom and the pain.  Didn’t help the stupid, though.  He drank and frowned as Napoleon studied him.  “What?”

“Did you actually swallow them?”

“Yes, Mother, I did.  You want to check?”  Illya obligingly opened his mouth.

“And get my finger bitten, I don’t think so.”  Napoleon took the glass and handed him a plate with two grilled cheese sandwiches on it.

“Really living it up down there in my kitchen, aren’t you?  I shudder to think how many pans you dirtied making this.”  Illya took a bite and chewed.  His own pride kept him from letting his partner know how good the simple meal was.

“It’s nice to be able to cook something without you hovering over my shoulder, offering suggestions.”  He grinned as Illya finished one sandwich and eyed the other.  “Those are both yours.  According to the doctor, you need the calcium.  Finally, I have something to help you assuage the boredom as well.”  He carefully set a thick booklet on Illya’s lap.

“What is that?”

“The voting guide for the upcoming election.”

“What makes you think I intend to vote?”

“Because you registered….for the wrong party, I might add.”

“Oh.”  Illya finished the second sandwich and emptied the glass of milk Napoleon handed him.  He risked a small sigh, content that the pain seemed to be receding a little. 

“And let’s get you up for a little bit of a walk before that medication has you singing _Slow Boat to China_ from the rooftop.”

“I can do it myself.”  Illya tossed the covers aside and got his legs over the edge, his face twisted.

“Did we already have this conversation?  I know you can do it yourself, but the doctor stressed that you weren’t supposed to.”  Napoleon slid under his arm.  “That’s why I’m here.  Up we go.”

“Once around the park, James, there’s a good fellow,” Illya muttered as he grunted to his feet.

“Flying already, are we?”  Napoleon chuckled.  “I should have turned on the tape recorder for this.  Matt and Rocky would eat this up…”

“You do and my vengeance will have a new name.”  Illya threatened through gritted teeth as he shuffled forward.  “God, I feel like I’m four hundred years old.”

“Not feeling very terrified of you at the moment.”  Napoleon kicked shoes out of their path.  “And you don’t look a day over three hundred.”

“I won’t always be incapacitated, you know.  Give me a couple of months, maybe a year, and I’ll be right as rain…”

“Then I shall wait for your thunder.”

                                                                                *****

Illya pulled his glasses off as Matt came into the room, a thick sheaf of papers beneath one arm. “ _Cara,_ you are feeling better, yes?”

“I am feeling better, not so much.”  Although he really was improved over two days earlier, the pain was still more than he liked.  He winced as he sat back further against the pillows.  Immediately Matt was there to adjust his pillows.  “Don’t!” Illya snapped.  He’d had Napoleon’s mothering up to here.  Matt pulled back, his face red, and Illya mentally kicked himself. “I’m sorry, Mattie, I know you’re trying to help, but really it’s… less painful if I do it.”  He caught Matt’s hand, kissed his fingers and then squeezed it gently.  “Forgive me.”

“Still so bad?”  Matt’s voice dropped as if he was betraying a secret.

“But not as bad.”  Illya set aside the voter’s guide and a pad of lined paper.  “What can I do for you?”

“These papers, we both need to sign them.”  Matt handed over some paperwork and Illya squinted at them, then gave up and put his glasses back on.  He’d have preferred his contacts, but they were still too much of a hassle for him to mess with and he certainly wasn’t going to ask Napoleon to put them in.  It was bad enough that Napoleon still had to help him to the toilet.

“What am I signing please?” 

“The 941-quarterly withholding statement, Board of Equalization, and this year’s tax statement.”  Matt passed each one over and glanced down at the pad.  “What are you working so hard on?”

“Trying to make sense out of these new propositions.  Why do we need a new bond?”

“The high school wants to improve its sports venues.  Honestly, I think they spend too much time on sports and not enough time on the basics, but what do I know?”

“I tend to agree with you.”

“We foreigners, we have to stick together.”  Matt reached down to tickle Moutard under his chin.  The yellow cat purred happily and arched his head back.  “Who does this one remind me of, eh?  How is Napoleon weathering your _celibato forzato_?”

“He’s not happy, but he’s making do.”  Illya smiled thinking of last night, of talking Napoleon through to his climax, wishing beyond hope that even the thought of an erection was attractive.  He was still having trouble with just urinating, the thought of a climax made Illya’s gut twist.

“It’ll come, _cara._ Napoleon isn’t likely to leave you just because you’re sidelined for a few days.”  Matt tapped the booklet.  “I am basically only interested in the one that makes us legal.”

“You’ll die an old man waiting for that one,” Illya muttered, quickly signing the forms. “Damn, Board of Equalization raised our rates again?  Somehow, I’m more annoyed now than I used to be.”

“That’s because you are now an American and feel the need to complain about how poorly you are treated.”

“I see -- as opposed to being one of the huddled masses?”

“ _Si_.”  Matt took the papers and checked them out before returning them to their file folder.  “I will mail these tomorrow and that will make our accountant _così felice_.”

“We wouldn’t want the accountant to be anything but happy.  How did you figure out who to vote for the first time, Matt?  There’s just so much information and all of it contradictory.”

“It’s easy.  You read, you inform yourself and then, if you are me, you vote for the one with the best haircut and the _più audaci cravatta_.”

“Boldest tie?  And here I thought America ran on democracy and an informed public.  I had no idea fashion played such an important role.”

Matt leaned down and kissed Illya’s forehead.  “Welcome to America, _cara_.  What would you like for dinner this evening?”

“Besides a new back?”

“If I could cook one up for you, I would.  How about the lamb instead?”

                                                                                ******

 

Napoleon glanced at his watch again and sighed.  “Sure, Illya, I‘ll come to the polls with you.  No problem,” he muttered under his breath.  “Forty seven minutes…”

“Your friend’s taking a long time.”  The woman sitting at the registrar’s table was flirting with him.

“First time he’s voted.”

“He does understand how the process works, doesn’t he?  That he actually has to cast a vote to make it work?”

“He’s cautious at the best of times.”  Napoleon thought about the ride over, the non-stop questions about this and that issue and why Napoleon was voting one way while Illya thought the other was better.  “And this is just the primaries – I can’t wait for the national election.”

“Perhaps the process will be old by then.”

Napoleon watched Illya walk from the small booth.  “You don’t know him.”  To Illya.  “Satisfied?”

“Not entirely.”  But Illya slid the ballot into the box.  “I feel that I’ve misjudged a question along the way.”

“As long as you voted yes on 18, all is right with the world.”  Napoleon winked at the woman who made a face.  Eighteen was the proposition recognizing gay unions.

“You mean no.”

“No, I mean yes, it had that convoluted wording to it… oh, Illya, you didn’t…”  Napoleon sighed.  “If this thing misses passing by one vote, I will personally hunt you down and shoot you.”  Illya looked so devastated that Napoleon couldn’t keep up the ruse for long.  “Kidding, I’m just kidding.  These propositions never fail by just one vote… and English is your second language.”

“Technically, it’s my fifth.”  Illya followed Napoleon back to the car, his shoulders sagging.  He climbed in and picked up his voter information ballot.  He flipped it open and read for the hundredth time.  “Ah, Napoleon, you should re-read that proposition.”

“Why?”

“The language is convoluted, but unless I miss my guess…”  Napoleon leaned closer and read where Illya pointed.

“ _Baise-moi_.”

“I’d prefer to wait until we were home and not in the car.  My back is still a little dicey.”

“I could have sworn…”

“It’s okay, Napoleon, English is only your first language…”  Illya grinned and settled his sunglasses in place.  “Let’s stop by the store on the way home.  I have a desire for something special tonight.”

Napoleon glanced over. “In spite of my earlier comment, I’m not in the mood at the moment.”

“I said something, Napoleon, not someone, and I’m sure I can convince you otherwise.”

 

Napoleon let out a strangled groan as he climaxed, his head tipped back, sweat trickling down his face.  Above him, Illya continued to move, too lost in his own quest to do any more than tighten his anal muscles and stroke himself faster.  Napoleon added his fingers  to the mix, rubbing the forefinger of one hand over the head of Illya’s penis while the other hand tormented one of Illya’s nipples.

Illya gasped, climaxing and Napoleon tightened the fingers of both hands, knowing it was what Illya craved at that very second.  He rolled the nipple in his finger, letting the fingernail bite into the tender skin and was rewarded by a second spurt of semen.  He backed off now, knowing his partner was spent.  It was the first enthusiastic bout of sex they’d had since Illya’s back trouble and having Illya drive had been Napoleon’s idea. 

He was now glad he had.  “The last time I climaxed like that… I think it was our wedding night.  How’s the back feeling?”

“I have a back?”  Illya didn’t move, still astride Napoleon, leaning back against his upraised legs.

“We’ll have the answer to that question in a couple of hours.”  Napoleon reached up and pulled Illya down onto him, relishing the stickiness of their sweat and lovemaking.  He kissed Illya, licking and nipping at his lips playfully until he captured his tongue and sucked it in.  Still sheathed, he moved experimentally, delighted as Illya pressed down and sighed.

Illya suddenly pulling free of Napoleon. “It’s my turn now…”

Napoleon gave him a lazy smile.  “I was wondering when you’d get around to that.”

“Wondering?”

“Well, hoping, but I didn’t want to push my luck.”

Illya ran a hand down one of Napoleon’s legs and caressed Napoleon’s ankle a moment before lifting it to his shoulder.  “Since when did you ever not push your luck, Solo?”

Napoleon snagged a pillow and stuffed it under the small of his back as Illya moved his other leg into position.  “Never with you, _amante…._ ”  He let the sentence trail off as his partner settled down to wash the remnants of their earlier love making from his penis.   Napoleon knew they’d been in for a marathon session when Illya had quietly carried the basin of water and a cloth in from the bathroom and set it on the nightstand.  It always amused him that Illya never asked, just assumed that Napoleon would be similarly inclined.

Napoleon shut his eyes as cool water trickled over his genitals, along with the light sure stroke of the cloth as it cleaned his penis and balls of their combined bodily fluids.  He could feel himself respond to the gentle, but rough touch of the fabric, then it was abruptly replaced by something hot and just as gentle but not rough.

“Jesus...”  He arched into Illya’s mouth, wanting more as he felt himself growing harder as his legs slid from Illya’s shoulders.

“Just me,” Illya pulled back to murmur and then returned to his ministrations, slowing his actions to give them both a chance to rekindle their need for each other.  Napoleon let himself get lost in a world of pure sensation.  When he first became sexually active, he thought he’d experienced all there was to offer.  Then he’d had his first sexual interaction with another man and felt that he’d conquered the last frontier of sexuality.  Yet it had taken a slender blond Russian to re-teach him everything there was to know about the depths and heights that two people could attain when they truly cared and trusted each other.

He reached for Illya’s head, holding him steady as he thrust into that mouth again and again, moaning Illya’s name.  Then his wrists were grasped and moved as Illya backed off.

“Tell me, like this or…?”

“Definitely the or…” Napoleon managed to pant himself back from the brink of orgasm. “But I want…”

Illya leaned in to kiss him, Napoleon’s tongue replacing his dick, opening to let Napoleon taste himself, to plunder every bit of Illya’s mouth until he was satisfied.  As they kissed, Napoleon ‘s hands skimmed down the body that pressed against him, familiar with every plane, every surface it had to offer, until  they reached Illya’s ass, cupping it, kneading it as their penises met in a delightful dance of need.

“What do you want?” Illya whispered, but didn’t allow him to answer.  His kiss was harder now, no nonsense.  Napoleon anticipated and welcomed the aggression.  It was part of their love making that he enjoyed the most – they didn’t need velvet gloves, they took what they wanted in whatever fashion met their needs.

He turned his head to break free and Illya’s mouth latched onto his neck, teeth stopping just short of breaking the skin.  With an effort, Napoleon pushed him away up into a sitting position, eyed Illya’s dick and opened his mouth.

Illya grinned at the wordless request.  He turned and straddled Napoleon, positioning himself so the angle wasn’t painful for him.  As soon as his penis found Napoleon’s mouth, he went back to work on Napoleon’s dick.

Sixty nine wasn’t Napoleon’s favorite position, but he knew Illya enjoyed it and the distraction was pleasant.  He moaned as Illya’s fingers found and entered him, smiling at Illya’s gasp as his fingers followed a similar pursuit.  He loved it when neither of them were in a hurry, enjoyed it while he could before…

Illya pulled away from him, a glint in his eye as he repositioned himself and pressed in, slowly oh so slowly.  Napoleon gasped, not from the pain but from the sheer sensory overload.  He knotted his hands in the bed sheets, wadding them in an effort to control himself. 

After  a lifetime, Illya stopped, his pubic bone resting against Napoleon’s body, unable to gain even a fraction more of an inch.  Then he withdrew, just as slowly.

“And repeat as necessary,” Napoleon managed through his groans.  And Illya, being an accommodating sort of fellow, eagerly complied.  He was funny that way.  Napoleon’s last thought as he exploded into a climax worthy of a rogue elephant was that neither of them was going to be worth shit the next morning...

 

 “Oh my God…” 

Napoleon didn’t need to open his eyes to clearly visualize the scene stretched out beside him.   It was vividly painted by his lover’s groan.   “Have a back, do we?”  He waited for the grunt before continuing. "Do I need to call the doctor?”

“Just a forklift operator to get me out of bed…”  He trailed off into a litany of Russian profanity.

Napoleon opened his eyes and turned his head.  Illya had an arm covering his eyes from the light fighting its way through the curtain.  “Language, old son,” Napoleon cautioned, propping himself up on his elbows.  At least neither of them had to work today… or even get out of bed if they chose not to.  He grinned, not that Illya had any choice in the matter.

He sat up and pushed the sheets aside and his breath caught…

“I need to call the doctor…”

“What?  I’m fine, just sore.”  Illya dropped his arm and grimaced at Napoleon.

“There’s blood in the bed.”

“What?”  That brought Illya upright, albeit with gritted teeth.  “Who?”

“I can’t tell… I feel okay, considering… you?”

“Nothing out of the ordinary… wait… oh, God… get the waste basket… quickly!”

Napoleon moved without conscious thought, thinking Illya was going to be sick.  Instead he was easing out of the bed with a mixture of disgust and amusement on his face.

“What’s wrong?”

“Moutard brought us a gift…”  The rat carcass was still oozing and the aforementioned cat swaggered into the room, meowing loudly.

“I’ve woken up next to some strange stuff in my life, but this is a first.”  Napoleon used a washcloth to transport the dead rodent to the garbage pail. 

“You are very proud of yourself, aren’t you?” Illya scolded the cat who watched the proceedings with great interest.  “I don’t even want to consider where you found that.”  Illya pulled back the blankets and began to strip the bed.

“Well, if nothing else, it did get us both out of bed.” Napoleon started to carry the trash can from the room. 

“Start a bath, will you?  Once the adrenaline wears off, I’m going to need one.”

“Your wish, my command.”

 

Illya leaned back comfortably in Napoleon’s arms, content for the moment to forget about restaurants, errant cats, obligations, and schedules.  He luxuriated in Napoleon’s embrace, his love, his universe.

“Been awhile since we’ve done this…”

“Mmm, last time I got talked into losing my Soviet citizenship; what are you going to talk me out of this time?”

“What do you have left?”  Napoleon tightened his embrace, sighing happily into Illya’s ear before kissing his head.

“Nothing, everything I have is yours.”

“Including the dead rats?”

“Most definitely the dead rats.”  Illya chuckled, then sobered.  “Did you ever stop to think, just once, about everything that had to happen in our lives to make this moment possible?”

“Nope.”  Napoleon kissed the damp blond hair again.  “I put it down to kismet, destiny and me being really, really lucky.”

Illya turned his head and caught Napoleon’s mouth in an awkward kiss.  "Me neither.”   And all was well in his world, until Napoleon shattered his calm with...

“So, who are you going to vote for in the general election now?”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
